The Genius in Insanity
by bookaholic6
Summary: When Hermione, a psychologist, meets a research scientist with an amazing discovery, she has no idea of the dark secrets and plans he's harboring . . . Muggle AU. Tom/Hermione. Rated M for language and mildly disturbing content.
1. Criminal Intent

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

* * *

"_One man's insanity is another man's genius; someday the world will recognize the genius in my insanity."_

_Joyce Carol Oates_

* * *

"What is one of the leading health problems in America today?" the researcher, a Dr. Tom Riddle, asked, pacing around the stage. "Besides, obesity, of course," he said wryly, eliciting a few snickers from the fidgety audience. This was the very last presentation in the mental health symposium and was led by a little known name in the scientific community, so most of the audience members were dying to get home.

Hermione sighed, slouching down in her seat. Honestly, the way this presentation was going, she might as well slink out now before the others tried to.

"Well? Anyone?" he snapped, a bit impatient now.

"Mental illness," Hermione called out, wishing to end the audience's torture.

His eyes locked onto hers, and for the first time since this day had begun, Hermione found herself really paying attention. There was just something about those eyes that made her think that maybe, he actually had something important to say.

"Exactly," he said. "One in four Americans will suffer from a mental illness in any given year, costing the government about 300 billion dollars. Traditional methods of curing mental illnesses, including counseling and psychotherapy," his lip curled as he showed exactly what he thought of those methods, "are often ineffective and do not truly get rid of mental illness. Now, what would you say if I told you there was a way to cure mental illness effectively and permanently?" he finished, pausing for dramatic effect.

Along with some of the other audience members, Hermione sat up, finally intrigued by his words. What exactly was he promising?

With a flourish (he seemed to enjoy being dramatic), the man whipped a cloth off his display board and proudly displayed the results of his research.

"This new drug has been proven to not only completely reduce all psychotic symptoms, but also to prevent their return. It has the same application as current anti-psychotic drugs and works in much the same way, by blocking D2 dopamine and 5-HT2A serotonin receptors in the brain. However, what it makes it so much more effective is that it also blocks other categories of dopamine and serotonin receptors, including . . ."

Hermione furiously scribbled notes throughout his entire lecture as the entire audience listened rapt. His new drug had enormous implications for the entire psychiatric community, and nobody wanted to miss a single word.

Predictably, Dr. Riddle was besieged with questions after his conclusion, most of them congratulations or desperate attempts to poke holes in his research. Just as the Q&A session was winding down, Hermione's hand shot in the air.

"Yes, Miss, uh-?" he asked, glancing over in her direction.

"Granger, Dr. Granger, and Dr. Riddle, are you aware of any potential side effects in your new drug?"

"Of course there are side effects, Miss Granger," he drawled, emphasizing the miss condescendingly and refusing to call her doctor. "However, they are no worse than other anti-psychotic drugs currently on the market right now, and the drug has already passed all Phase 1 and Phase 2 testing by the FDA." He turned to address the murmur going through the crowd. "Yes, you heard me right. After," she noted that he said after and not if, "it passes Phase 3, it will be on the market, in potentially as little as a few years," he declared with all the pomp and smugness of a new president delivering a speech on a successful piece of legislation.

Turning to go, he made his way out through the back of the stage. Hermione hurriedly collected her things and dashed out the door in an effort to follow him. Just managing to catch the edge of the door, she stumbled through and yelled after him.

"Dr. Riddle! Do you have a moment?" she panted.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" he asked, somewhat exasperatedly.

"I just had a few more questions about the side effects of your new drug. Surely the effects of blocking more than one type of receptor could lead to exponentially greater side effects! Current anti-psychotic drugs already cause enough side effects to lead most people to refuse prescriptions; obviously, side effects are a concern as well," Hermione argued.

"As I stated before, it has already passed FDA clinical testing," he said through gritted teeth. "Unless you have any real objections to make—"

"I'm not finished yet. It's already been proven that anti-psychotic drugs can cause catatonia in patients. And this is only through blocking D2 receptors! What do you think will happen when you block more dopamine receptors throughout the brain?" Hermione contended.

He raised an eyebrow. "And what exactly did you think the purpose of this drug was, then, Miss Granger?"

She stood there completely speechless for one of the first times in her life. "You mean to say that you _meant_ for this to occur?"

"Of course I did; did you think I was that unintelligent as to not realize that would happen?" he snapped. "I said this drug would cure mental illness permanently. What did you think I meant?"

"But-but the FDA—"

"Oh, come now, Miss Granger, surely you're not that naïve." Smirking at her look of betrayal and bewilderment, he corrected himself. "I suppose you thought the justice system put criminals behind bars rather than letting wealthy, guilty-as-sin murderers walk free and that Santa Claus really existed," he sneered. "The FDA requires money, just like everyone else in this world, and this drug will make them piles of it. They were only too happy to overlook the side effects."

"They're people, Dr. Riddle, actual people! They have personalities and quirks and stories and lives, all of which you'll take away from them! You'll condemn them to live in a coma for the rest of their lives, unable to experience anything!" she shouted, her chest heaving.

"I fail to see how that is my problem," he said coldly. "Their mental illness will be completely eradicated. They will be able to lead normal, functioning lives with their families. What more could they ask for?"

"At the expense of their souls," she whispered. "Maybe they're not mentally ill anymore, but they're not normal either. They're a shell, a shadow."

"Their souls?" he snickered. "You really are too precious. Needless to say, all of your objections, although on morally higher ground, are completely useless. Try it," he encouraged spitefully when she opened her mouth to argue. "Go on, I dare you. Go to the FDA. Tell them about the problem with my drug. See what they say. Take it to the news for all I care. You know exactly what they'll say." Feeling shell-shocked, Hermione could only watch as he got into his car victoriously and drove away.

The worst part was she knew he was right. Mental illness made you a pariah. It was something to be abhorred, forever associated with twisted serial killers butchering innocent children, emotionless psychopaths never comprehending basic feelings of love and happiness, and deranged lunatics viciously beating anybody who came near.

Nobody would even care that the people taking this drug would become robots. It was better that way, easier to shove them away in a dark corner to be forgotten and pitied.

* * *

Humming quietly to herself, Hermione moved through the psych ward, making sure everything was in order and all the patients were content. The patients crowded around her like children around their mother begging for a scrap of attention. Smiling slightly, she chatted with Ernie, a schizophrenic patient ("You have to be careful, Dr. Granger. They've hidden cameras and microphones in the garden outside. They're always watching," he whispered surreptitiously. "I'll watch out," she promised.), cooed appreciatively when a young autistic patient, Charlie, handed her an elaborately folded paper dragon ("It's so lifelike, Charlie! Fantastic!" she beamed, making to hand it back with the vast collection next to his bed. He shook his head and pushed it at her, before running away. Sighing, she yelled after him, "Thank you very much!" and stowed it in her pocket.), and pretended to be frightened of Bellatrix, a bipolar patient, dressed in a witch costume ("Hahaha," she cackled wildly, made up very convincingly in green makeup and a black wig complete with a broomstick and ripped black robes. "Very nice job, Bellatrix," she remarked. "But it's not even Halloween yet!" "It's never too early to prepare, and I have to make everybody else's costumes as well," she sniffed, glaring about her.)

As she prepared to head out, she turned back and looked at her patients one more time. She wished some of Dr. Riddle's most strident supporters (and the man himself) could see them like this, laughing and playing with one another. All of this would be taken away from them once they took Dr. Riddle's drug. Briefly, she wondered if they would even remember her once they were on the drug. What would it feel like to be trapped in a catatonic state, unable to act of your own accord?

"I thought you might work someplace like this," a voice behind her remarked snidely. "So predictable, aren't you?"

She whirled around. "What are you doing here?"

"Why I'm here to conduct Phase 3 of the clinical trials," he said innocently.

"What—but—" she stuttered, horrified by this new prospect. Spotting the hospital director behind Dr. Riddle, she called out to him, "Surely we're not going to be the first to test out this new drug!"

"Of course we are, my dear!" the director, Dr. Fudge, answered. "I must say, I'm really quite flattered that you chose our humble little hospital for your clinical testing. Why, I believe we may even get our own page in the history book once this is all over, don't you think, Tom?"

"There's no need to be modest," Dr. Riddle—_Tom_, she thought viciously, _he didn't deserve the respect of his title_—replied demurely. "This hospital is one of the largest and most well run in the nation. I never would have considered another one." Hermione had to hold back her disgust. He was the perfect blend of respectfully flattering and confidently assertive, and Dr. Fudge was eating it up.

Desperately hoping for a way to change his mind, she followed after them. "But, Dr. Fudge, aren't you worried about the drug's consequences? It could leave our patients in a permanent catatonic state!"

"Don't trouble yourself about it, my dear," he said, dismissing her objection with a wave of his hand. "Tom here knows exactly what he's doing. This drug won't harm our patients at all, you'll see."

Snorting rudely, she pointed towards the window to her ward. "Don't you see these patients as people? If you give them this drug, you're taking away all of that! They'll be mindless vegetables going through the motions of life! Who are you to decide to do that to them without their consent?"

"Oh, now really, Dr. Granger, please control yourself. You know the rules about forming attachments to your patients. If you continue in this manner, I may have to remove you from your duties for a few days to let you cool down," Dr. Fudge admonished. "However, I know you are a fair and impartial judge and will not let your biases control you. This is why I'm assigning you the job of helping Dr. Riddle here conduct his trial. As head of largest psychiatric unit in the hospital, I'm sure your expertise will greatly benefit Tom. I'll let you two get acquainted while I tidy up some business," he finished, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

Hermione and Tom stared each other down as if they were predators circling each other, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.

Finally, he broke the silence. "I doubt I'll require any assistance from you. In fact, why don't you get busy staying out of my way," he sneered, turning away and striding down the hall.

_I will not yell unprofessional and inappropriate things after him. I will not run after him and beat him to death with my clipboard. I will not shove him in a broom closet and lock the door,_ Hermione thought, seething with fury.

She had to endure this arrogant bastard, though. Her mind was already whirring, brainstorming ideas to make sure his drug never saw the light of day.

* * *

Stalemate.

Again.

Hermione huffed, crossing her arms and turning her back towards him. "Why are you so idiotically stubborn?" she hissed through gritted teeth.

"In case you hadn't noticed, you are being just as stubborn as I am right now. It is your _job_ right now to assist me, so do as I say and don't question me," he retorted icily.

Whirling around, she yelled, "Do _not_ force me to do your dirty work for you, Tom! I don't even think this medicine should be available, much less tested on _my_ patients, so don't presume to tell me what I should or shouldn't be doing."

"And yet, I'm technically your superior, so I demand that you distribute the drugs," he fired back, glaring at her.

"Aren't you afraid I'll mess up because I'm not as perfect as you?" she asked sarcastically.

He smirked. "Even someone as stupid as you can't mess up a task as simple as handing out pills to patients."

Flushing, she replied, "Regardless, Tom, I'm not doing it. Tattle to Fudge all you want; maybe he'll do us both a favor and remove me from your trial."

"Besides, what's your problem anyway? If it's as easy as you say it is, what's stopping you from doing it yourself?"

"It's none of your business, all right?" he growled, refusing to meet her eyes. "Why can't you just do it?"

"Because I don't want to," she said petulantly, tossing her head. "And you can't make me."

"Real mature," he snorted.

"Nothing about this situation is mature," she snapped. "Suck it up and distribute the pills yourself—unless you want to give me a good answer about why you won't do it."

His mouth opened and closed, making him look like a fish out of water. Finally, he whipped his head up and met her eyes. "Damn you," he muttered.

She smirked. "So, tell me, what's your deal? Watch too many horror movies with creepy insane asylum patients? Afraid you'll look in their eyes and see yourself—"

"My father's in one of these," he interrupted suddenly, looking away from her.

"What?" she breathed, now unsure of her questioning.

"My mother was just like you, a nurse in an asylum out in the middle of nowhere, and that's where she fell in love," here his mouth twisted like he'd swallowed a lemon, "with my father. He was one of the patients there, and he was completely crazy. Schizophrenic, manic-depressive, the whole deal. She couldn't help herself, though, and, well, they started up a relationship. When the administration found out, she was fired of course and turned out onto the streets. She gave birth to me in an orphanage and died shortly afterwards. I doubt my father even knows I exist if he's still alive."

For once, she had absolutely nothing to say to him. "I'm sorry," she whispered, feeling like a complete jerk.

"I don't want your pity!" he snarled angrily. "Just give out those damned pills, all right?"

"My parents are crazy, too," she blurted out.

"What the hell—"

"I mean both of them are bipolar. There's a history of mental illness in my family, and that's why I always wanted to work somewhere like this. Because one day I could be in one of these, and I want the people that work here to see me as a person, you know, and not just think of me as that crazy old lady in the corner," she said in a rush.

"Why are you telling me this?" he murmured, somewhat bewildered.

"You told me why you're the way you are, so I told you why I'm the way I am."

Both of them stared at each other for a long beat.

"Truce?" he said, smiling slightly and holding his hands up in a gesture of peace.

"Fine," she agreed, shaking his hand. "I still don't agree with your drug, though."

"That's all right," he grinned. "There's nothing you can do about it anyway."

* * *

_Curiosity killed the cat,_ Hermione thought ruefully as she hesitated with her fingers over the keyboard. _But satisfaction brought it back_, her devilish side needled.

She just couldn't let Tom's story go. So many questions were unanswered; what had happened to his father was the chief one. Now here she sat, in front of her computer, wondering whether it would be a gross invasion of his privacy if she researched his father.

_Screw it_, she thought impulsively, starting to type his father's name into a search engine. _I'll just see what I can find. No need to tell Tom about it._

She soon wished she hadn't given in to her inner demon.

_The Pendleton Record, May 7, 1986_

_Scandal erupted earlier this week with the discovery that Merope Gaunt, a nurse at the Mark T. Warner Insane Asylum, has been feeding one of the patients, Tom Riddle, a drug known to raise libido, apparently so she could take advantage of him. She has been promptly dismissed and investigations are being undertaken to identify the true scope of her transgressions. Meanwhile, Tom Riddle's family has moved him to another mental hospital nearby to "better take care of him," a close friend says . . . _

_Coquille Valley Sentinel, November 29, 2004_

_Nurses at the Coquille Mental Hospital are shocked at the recent suicide of one of their patients, Tom Riddle. "His son had just visited him, and he was so excited to meet him. He'd been planning the visit for weeks, ever since his son contacted him. I'd never seen him so happy," one of the nurses reported. Apparently, soon after his son visited him, he became depressed and was able to discover a gun one of the security guards carelessly left unattended. He then shot himself in the head. "I feel so guilty right now," his son, Tom Riddle Jr., confessed. "The police told me he committed suicide not fifteen minutes after I left. I should have known, should have done something to prevent it." A memorial service will be held Sunday . . . _

There followed a picture of a solemn and stoically grieving Tom next to a casket being lowered into the ground.

"_I doubt my father even knows I exist if he's still alive."_ Why did he lie about this? What was the point of telling her he'd never known his father? It gave her an uneasy feeling, and the police investigation didn't help either. After only a week of investigation, the police had determined that Rubeus Hagrid, one of the security guards, had left his gun unattended although he'd never shown this kind of carelessness before. However, Tom said he had noticed Mr. Hagrid drinking something out of a brown paper bag, and the man had tested positive for alcohol consumption after the incident. The only person who seemed to believe in Mr. Hagrid's innocence was Dr. Dumbledore, the head of the mental hospital. Unfortunately, the evidence was enough for the police. Only Dr. Dumbledore's voucher for Mr. Hagrid kept him out of jail.

The case was seemingly clear-cut, yet she couldn't shake the feeling that something was fishy. Tom's lie didn't help matters either. A tiny detail niggled at the back of her mind, and she just couldn't reach it. Frowning, she went over the newspaper articles and police logs again.

And, there it was, page 26 of the interview with Tom:

"_I noticed that Mr. Hagrid was asleep at the guard desk, but I didn't want to wake him. God, if only I had . . ."_

But Hagrid had claimed that he had seen Tom leave. How could Tom have left while Hagrid was awake but claim to see him sleeping at the guard desk unless he'd come back later . . .

And what reason would he have to come back?

Her head snapped up as she reasoned it out.

It was all so clear now. Tom had killed his father and then blamed it on the security guard.

That was why he'd been able to see the sleeping security guard—he'd come back to kill his father.

That was why he couldn't tell her that his father was dead—he didn't want her finding out that he himself had killed him.

She shuddered as she lifted a trembling hand to her forehead.

He was even more dangerous than she thought.

* * *

"You lied to me!" she yelled, stomping into his temporary office, unfortunately located next to hers. He looked up, surprised and confused.

"I'm sorry I don't know what you're talking about—" he responded, quirking an eyebrow at her.

"Your little sob story last week," she seethed. "You left out a lot of important details, such as, oh I don't know, how _you killed your father_!"

Suddenly, he looked the picture of concern, getting up and examining her closely.

"What are you doing?" she snarled, pulling back from him.

"Hermione, are you sure you're all right? I haven't the faintest idea what you mean. Perhaps it's time you checked yourself into this hospital—" he mocked.

"This isn't a joke!" she shouted. "I know you did it, and I'll tell Fudge; even he can't ignore something like this—"

"You'll do no such thing," he said, his voice suddenly hard as iron. "You don't even have a shred of evidence to back up your wild accusations, just your gut feeling. Unfortunately, they don't accept those in a court of law or in your boss's office, so I'm afraid you'll keep your delusions to yourself unless you want to be committed to a mental hospital."

"What—you wouldn't—" she gasped.

"There isn't much I wouldn't do," he sneered, "as I sense you've found out. Now, why don't you run along and distribute those pills. Accept the fact that there's nothing you can do to save your precious little psychos. You'll be happier once you do."

Gritting her teeth, she snapped out sarcastically, "Yes, sir," and then dashed from the room.

As soon as she'd escaped the office, she pounded her fist into the wall, really wishing it was his stupidly perfect face she was pounding into mush. God, if only there was a way she could stop him . . .

Suddenly, her eyes widened and she put her hand to her mouth. Grinning to herself, she headed down the hall with a new spring in her step.

She had a lot of work to do.

* * *

"Now I'll be taking you on a tour of the mental hospital, Inspector," Tom droned on. "You'll notice that all of the patients are behaving—" He stopped unable to believe his eyes. Hermione covered her smirk with her hands.

All of the patients were going off the wall.

Bellatrix was running around with a pair of scissors trying to convince Ernie to take off his clothes and try on a new costume she'd made out of the room's curtains, Ernie was busy demolishing the lights in the room to find the hidden bugs planted by the government, and Charlie was rocking back and forth in a corner of the room, surrounded by his paper dragons.

The inspector turned to Tom. "You were saying?" he asked, gesturing to the obviously not well-behaving patients.

"I-I don't understand," he stuttered. "They were perfectly fine yesterday, not like this at all."

"Well, I apologize, Dr. Riddle, but the rules are the rules. You'll have to redo these clinical trials and resubmit your drug's application to the FDA," the inspector stated, making a mark on his clipboard.

Tom nodded mechanically, still staring at the patients. The inspector patted him on his back and then left.

Hermione snickered, savoring his humiliation. She began walking away when Tom's head suddenly snapped up and he stared directly at her.

"You," he snarled, pinning her against the wall. "You did this! What the hell did you do, you stupid little—"

"I did absolutely nothing you can prove, Dr. Riddle," she hissed, appropriating his words for her benefit. "So if you'll kindly let me go—"

Clenching his fists as if he wanted to punch her, he glared at her. Taking a few deep breaths, he just as abruptly broke away from her and stomped out of the hall.

Letting out a breath she hadn't known she was holding, she slumped against the wall.

She'd finally done it.

* * *

"You really are quite devious, aren't you?" Tom marveled from the doorway of her office.

Bewildered that he was still here, she pasted on her best innocent-little-girl expression. "I'm sure I don't know what you're referring to, Dr. Riddle."

"You switched out the drugs for a placebo, didn't you?" he continued, not even bothering to respond to her denial. He shook his head appreciatively. "I should never have let you distribute the pills yourself. I never thought moral little you would have it in you, though. I underestimated you, Dr. Granger." His expression turned flinty. "I won't do so again." He turned to leave.

"Wait!" Hermione called after him, slightly astonished at his sudden mood change. "Aren't you upset about your drug? With the inspector's review, you may never get another clinical trial again."

He smirked. "I have other plans now." As he walked out the door, he said over his shoulder, "We'll meet again, Hermione."

She shivered; she should be jumping for joy right now. She was never going to see him again.

So why did she feel like this was just beginning?

* * *

A/N: There will be two parts to this, with the next part coming next week. Please review!


	2. Law and Order

_5 years later_

Cooking dinner after a long day at work, Hermione poured herself a drink while the TV droned on in the background.

"And earlier today a local man robbed a bank only to crash his car in a subsequent car chase . . ."

Humming to herself, Hermione tuned out the reporter's voice, and only barely caught the last few words.

"In other news, a new head of the National Water Quality Board, Tom Riddle, Jr., has been named. At 33, he is the youngest head ever to serve . . ."

_CRASH!_

Hermione had whirled around at this unexpected news and dropped her glass. She stared in shock at the screen for a few minutes and barely noticed as the liquid seeped into the carpet and her shoes.

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she walked unsteadily towards a chair and fell down heavily in it.

She hadn't heard his name in years. In fact, she'd almost been able to forget him—save for her nightmares. She'd almost been able to convince herself that he'd really gone, that his "other plans" were to retire happily in the Caribbean or someplace equally far away.

_What the hell is he doing as the head of the National Water Quality Board?_, she fumed to herself. She didn't think he had any sort of background in public policy, much less in water quality, but she supposed his good looks and charisma had been enough to bluff him through the job.

_Relax, Hermione_, she told herself. _Maybe he secretly nourished a dream of ensuring that everybody always has clean water to drink. Maybe he's secretly a good person._ She snorted. She'd believe that when she saw it.

Nevertheless, it did no good to worry like this. His new job had made it even unlikelier that they'd ever cross paths again.

Resolving to leave Tom in the past, she turned back to her dinner.

* * *

Scowling angrily, Hermione downed her fifth glass of champagne, ignoring the titters and looks from the other guests.

This was not her day.

First, her stupid, good-for-nothing boyfriend, Cormac McLaggen, had dumped her. Right before this equally stupid and good-for-nothing charity gala for the mental hospital! Consequently, she'd had to go single (because, according to Fudge she "absolutely had to be there to represent the hospital in the best possible light") and suffer the humiliation from the other doctors at this party.

Second, her patients were unusually badly behaved today. They all had their bad days, and she was usually able to bear with them, but her temper had been running short today, leading to her lashing out at them. She'd immediately regretted her actions, but there was no taking them back, and now her patients were scared and distrustful of her. She sighed. It would probably take a full month to repair the damage.

Third, the radio on the way home had informed her that stupid Tom Riddle had made a public service announcement about the country's absolutely horrendous water quality and assured everybody that he was working on the problem. Perhaps she was just suffering from paranoia, but she was sure that this so-called "problem" was a key factor in his sneaky little plans.

She turned back towards the refreshment table—_this was going to be a long day and called for another glass of champagne_—when she bumped right into someone.

"So sorry, didn't see you there," she muttered, trying to sidestep them.

"Probably because you've had five glasses of champagne," the person drawled, and she looked up in surprise—_she knew that voice_.

"Tom?" she gasped, finally looking up at him.

"In the flesh," he grinned, winking at her. She flushed, making to go around him, but he grabbed her arm.

"May I have this dance?" he asked, smiling at her. She gulped; his expression reminded her of a shark's.

"Well, I, uh," she stammered. He completely ignored her and swept her onto the dance floor.

Finally waking up from her daze, she snapped, "I didn't say I wanted to dance with you."

"You didn't say that you didn't want to dance with me," he pointed out, amused.

"Well, now I am," she declared, trying to wrench her arm out of his grip.

"Don't be rude; the dance isn't over yet," he rebuked her coldly. She shivered, remembering the fact that he was a killer.

"What do you want, Tom?" she hissed, giving up on breaking out of his hold.

"I just want the opportunity to dance with the most beautiful woman in the room," he said innocently.

She glared at him. "Tell me the truth."

"I'm hurt that you distrust me so," he smirked. "Dance's over," he said suddenly, letting go of her hand. "Until next time."

She stood there gaping as he disappeared quickly in the crowd, leaving her alone on the dance floor.

Heaving a breath in exasperation, she headed towards the refreshment table again.

This called for another glass of champagne.

* * *

Tom glared at the man who had motioned him over.

"What did you want?" he spit out.

"Grindelwald wants to know if you can deliver," the man said nonchalantly, completely unafraid of him. "He doesn't tolerate failure."

"Tell him that I don't either and that my delivery is quite certain," he growled. "Tell him that I don't appreciate having my time interrupted for trivial matters."

"Grindelwald decides what's trivial and what isn't. And you can tell him yourself, the next time he deigns to speak to you," the man snickered, walking away from him.

He balled his fists furiously, contemplating ways to eviscerate the man in the most painful ways imaginable. They won't get away with speaking to him like that. Nobody has.

* * *

_Click-click-click._

Hermione sighed happily; this was her most favorite part of the day, when the hospital had closed to visitors, the patients had gone to bed, and the only thing she could hear was the sound of her high heels tapping.

For once, the hospital was peaceful.

As she rounded the corner on her way back to her office, she noticed someone bent over, drinking from the water fountain.

She frowned. The person was definitely not a staff member.

"Excuse me, sir, but visiting hours are over—" she stopped as the man straightened and flashed a smug smile at her.

"Sir, I like the sound of that," he grinned, leaning against the wall.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Tom?" she scowled, crossing her arms.

"I'm inspecting the water quality here," he replied innocently.

"Bullshit," she hissed. "I'm sure you personally inspect every building's water quality, don't you?"

"I made an exception for you—don't look so happy," he smirked. "But, you know, I think your building's water quality is dangerously low. We may have to shut this hospital down until it can be improved."

"You can't!" she gasped.

"The question isn't whether I can or cannot, Hermione, because I definitely can," he said. "It's what you're willing to do about it."

"What do you want, Tom?" she asked resignedly.

"That's more like it," he said, moving closer towards her. "Go on a date with me."

"What?" Hermione screeched. "You—I—what!"

"Speechless? Most women are," he teased.

"You're such an arrogant asshole," she growled. "I'll go on your stupid date, but don't expect me to like it."

"You better," he said coldly. "Because if you don't, I might just decide to close the hospital anyway."

She stood there and stared at him. "You have no idea how much I despise you right now," she snapped finally.

"Doesn't matter to me as long as you behave nicely on our date. How's next Wednesday sound? I'll pick you up at six thirty," he said, turning to leave before she could respond.

"Son of a bitch," Hermione swore.

Her week had just gotten so much worse.

* * *

"Well, you clean up well," Tom remarked as he lounged against her doorframe.

"Why, thank you, Tom," she replied brightly, accepting his arm. She was determined to "play nice" if only for the hospital. As soon as this night was over, she could go back to cursing his name.

Surprisingly, their date passed relatively pleasantly even though they mostly bickered about random and unimportant things. He was actually quite charming when he wanted to be.

"Excuse me for a moment," he suddenly interrupted smoothly, right in the middle of her sentence. Frowning, she watched as he quickly got up from his seat and headed for the back of the restaurant.

_Tick tock. Tick tock._

First five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen . . . _When is he coming back? I thought this date wasn't going too bad. If he stood me up, there's going to be hell to pay_, she thought furiously, glaring at any waitresses who happened to walk by.

Finally when she couldn't stand it anymore, she got up and strode towards the entrance, leaving the bill unpaid. _Maybe they'll chase him out to his car and make him pay,_ she thought scathingly as she turned the corner and suddenly caught a glimpse of dark hair and a tall body in a suit behind a curtain.

_If he's with another girl_, she scowled, ducking behind the door so she could eavesdrop.

"Will you have it ready by then?" a deep, masculine voice asked. _Not Tom's_, she noted, frowning.

"Once the results are in on the test subject, it will be ready for distribution," Tom answered.

"It better be, Riddle," the voice retorted. "Or you'll be in deep trouble."

"Of course, sir," Tom replied suavely. "Have I ever given you any reason to doubt me?"

"See to it that you don't," the voice barked. "Dismissed."

Hermione hurriedly backed away from the curtain and dashed back to the table. Luckily, the staff hadn't cleared away any of the dishes yet, and she was able to sneak back without Tom noticing.

"Sorry about that, Hermione," Tom apologized, sliding back into his seat. "There was some business with the water board."

"Oh, no problem," she tittered nervously. "It was really no trouble at all."

He stared at her with a disconcerted expression. "Why don't I make it up to you with a walk in the park?"

"That sounds lovely, Tom," she responded, forcing herself to take a deep breath so her voice would sound normal.

He didn't look convinced, but he appeared to let it go.

She barely focused on the walk as she dissected every bit of the conversation she'd overheard. What were Tom and that man planning? What test subject were they using? More importantly, what were they testing out? She shivered, remembering Tom's last project. Surely, it wasn't anything like that?

Luckily, Tom seemed caught up in his own thoughts as well. Their walk was completely silent.

"We're back, Hermione," Tom prompted, guiding her out of his car.

"Hmm?" she murmured, jolted out of her thoughts.

"You've been so distracted," he noted. "What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing important," she lied. "Thank you for the wonderful date, Tom."

Making to close the door, she stepped into her house only to have him stop the door with his foot.

"Aren't you going to invite me in, Hermione?" he asked pleasantly but with a hint of iron behind it. She suddenly noticed that his eyes were burning with hate? anger? lust? She couldn't tell, and she was reminded of his past.

"I really don't think—"

"I insist," he said firmly, pushing the door open and shoving her inside.

"Tom, what the hell are you doing?" she gasped, pushing back against him.

Kicking the door closed behind him, he yanked her over to the wall and pressed her against it.

"God, why can't I let you go?" he breathed, seemingly talking to himself.

"Tom—I—what!" she spluttered, struggling against his grip. She could feel her strength waning, though; she felt so tired for some reason.

"You're taking over my life," he whispered, his lips against her ear. "I can't let you do that anymore. Just one time, and then you'll be gone forever."

He captured her lips in a fiery and dominating kiss. Finding herself unable to resist, she ceased her struggles.

"Tom," she murmured as she gave herself over to sweet surrender.

* * *

He'd been waiting for this for five years. Her face had always been in the back of his mind, taunting him, disrupting his concentration, ruining him.

She's a wicked siren, and he can't escape her song.

_One night_, he thought, _and then I can let her go._

He should have known that once you taste ambrosia, you can never satisfy your craving and you can never forget it.

* * *

_I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry._

The words circled in her head like a flock of birds, and she felt so dizzy. Fighting against exhaustion, she pulled herself to a sitting position. Immediately, she regretted it as the blood drained from her head and it pounded even more, but she had to call the hospital and tell them she wasn't going in . . .

"Relax, I already called you in sick," a voice soothed. Still groggy, she didn't understand who was talking to her.

"Who—what are you doing here?" she croaked, blearily looking about her bedroom.

Tom's face finally swam into focus in front of her and she tried to concentrate on it. _God, what had happened to her?_

As if he had heard her thoughts, he said, "You passed out last night, and I stayed the night to help you. I think you may have gotten pneumonia from our walk because you had a high fever and chills. Here, I have some medicine for you to take." He held some pills out in front of her.

"Thanks," she muttered, quickly swallowing them down. The room finally stopped looking so blurry and she was able to see him clearly now.

"Rest some more," he said. "You need to sleep a lot to regain your strength."

She yawned. "Yeah, I feel so tired already . . ." Her voice trailed off as she fell asleep again.

Tom stared at her sleeping form. He drew the blankets up over her and whispered, "Sleep well, Hermione."

Tom stayed and took care of her for an entire week. _Maybe he wasn't so bad after all_, she caught herself thinking frequently over his stay.

"I really can't tell how much I'm grateful to you for taking care of me this week," she thanked him. "I feel so bad for making you miss so much work."

"It wasn't a problem at all, Hermione," he smiled. "Helping you feel better was worth it."

"Regardless, I can't thank you enough." She hesitated slightly. "Would you like to go out again sometime?"

He looked at her with a strange mixture of shock, fear, and sadness for a moment. Then, his face rapidly morphed into an expression of happiness. "I would really like that."

"Good, so next Tuesday? I'll meet you at noon for lunch," she grinned, mimicking the way he had asked her on the last date as she shut the door in his face.

_His stunned expression was worth facing his wrath later,_ she thought victoriously.

She chose to overlook his strange expression earlier. Perhaps she'd just imagined it.

* * *

Slowly but surely, Tom integrated himself into her life, spreading like a virus. First, they went on dates almost every week, then every couple of days, then every day. Soon, she was practically living over at his house, and it didn't seem like too much of a stretch to move in with him.

_She was falling, but he was always there to catch her._

One day, she looked around and realized that she hadn't seen any of her friends in over two months. Staring at the phone, she hesitated as she debated whether to call them and invite them over. Her hand hovered over the phone, but she abruptly turned away.

It would be too awkward to talk to them now after this long apart. Besides, if they missed her, they'd call her themselves.

_She's drowning, but he's there to help her breathe._

"What's wrong with me, Tom?" she sobbed. She used to love her job, but now she could barely get through an hour with her patients. Even Dr. Fudge had noticed and had given her a week of mandatory leave so she "could sort out her problems."

"Maybe you just need a break from everything," he said reassuringly. "You work yourself too hard, Hermione. Relax for once. Enjoy this week; then go back and take care of your patients."

"You're right," she agreed. "Everybody needs a break once in a while."

One week passed, then two, then a month . . . She didn't even notice the letter Fudge sent her to inform her that he had hired somebody else for her position, nor did she miss her job.

_Everything was going black, but his face was always the last thing she saw._

* * *

_She's mine_, he thinks as he stares at her sleeping form. He reaches out and brushes her hair off her face.

Sometimes, he wondered if this was what his mother felt like, watching his father and knowing that she had him, but not truly, never the way she wanted.

The bottle of pills next to her bed catches his eye, and his face hardens as he's reminded of Grindelwald and his task.

He despises Grindelwald. He thinks Tom's sycophantic and weak, that he's a spineless lackey to be ordered around.

Someday, he'll understand his plans, realize his genius.

Sometimes, he wondered if this was what his father felt like, living in a world that refuses to see what you see, turning in dark spirals in the recesses of your mind.

He's the worst of both of his parents, with his mother's obsessive love and his father's disturbing insanity.

But with her, at least he can pretend he's not insane.

* * *

The old man's face stared back at him as blank as a fresh piece of paper.

He smirked viciously. "So you thought you could control me, did you?"

"You didn't think that I was a threat," he continued, pacing around the room.

"None of you did," he added, gesturing at the rest of Grindelwald's gang gathered around the room in various stages of catatonia.

"Didn't anyone teach you not to underestimate your opponents?" he mocked.

"It was so easy, too. All I had to do was bribe the cook to add some powdered pill to your food every day. A little bit every day for a month, that's all I needed."

"But none of you will ever know the completion of our plans, will you? I'm taking over, and you can trust I'll do a much better job than any of you could have done."

"It's a shame none of you will ever hear my last words to you," he grinned sharply, bowing to the group as he walked out.

* * *

_Ten Months Later_

Hermione whistled happily as she made breakfast in the kitchen.

"Mail's here," she called because he liked to be the first to read it.

Flipping through the letters absentmindedly, she would have skipped over the newspaper until the headline caught her eye.

**IS IT TRUE? IS TOM RIDDLE DATING A MENTALLY ILL WOMAN?**

Underneath was a picture of her and Tom walking in the park. She would have thought it was an adorable picture (he had his arm around her and they were both smiling) if it wasn't for the caption and headline proclaiming her to be insane.

"Don't read that," he ordered, snatching the newspaper out of her hands abruptly.

She looked at him with a shocked expression, and he quickly shoved a glass of water and some pills in her hand.

"Remember to take these so you don't get pneumonia again," he reproached warily, eyeing her.

Slowly, she gulped down the pills and the water. As soon as he left, she spit them back out in the sink, wiping her mouth for good measure.

* * *

_Three pills in a plastic cup._

"_Here you go," she chirps brightly, smiling at the person in line._

"_Don't wanna, don't wanna," he mutters, stubbornly glaring at the floor._

"_You know you have to," she chides, gently placing it in his hand._

_Finally he meets her eyes as he swallows the pills. Her breath catches a bit as she realizes how clear and lucid his eyes seemed until the pills kick in. Then, they smooth over, glazing his expression._

_Smiling dopily, he stumbles back to his room._

_She almost wants to take those pills back, force him to spit them back up, so she can see his bright eyes._

* * *

_Stealthily, she switches the labels on the bottles._

_She can still remember the look of those eerily white, almost glowing like the moon, pills sitting innocently in the plastic bottles._

_She snickers as she looks proudly down on her handiwork._

_This'll put a wrench in his plans, she thinks viciously, bounding away._

* * *

"_Some more wine?" Tom asks politely, gesturing at her empty glass._

"_Sure, thank you," she responds automatically._

_She looks up as the waitress approaches and only just barely catches a few bits of white powder going into her drink, but by the time she really looks at it, nothing looks out of place._

_She assumes it was just some dust floating around and takes a sip of her wine._

* * *

"_Why are you doing this to me?" he groans, kissing her neck._

_Her arms feel so heavy, and it's too much effort to move, so she lies limp in his arms as his hands roam and his lips leave little marks all over her body._

* * *

"_Here, I have some medicine for you to take," he says steadily. As she downs the pills, he watches her reaction closely._

* * *

"What did you do, Tom?" she gasps in horror.

"Hermione? Is something wrong?" he asks concernedly.

"I know what you're doing," she accuses. "You've made everybody think I'm crazy and you're feeding me these pills so I'll be complacent! Why are you doing this to me?"

"I'm not doing anything to you, Hermione. I told you those pills are for pneumonia—"

"Stop lying to me! I know there's no such thing; I would never have believed you if I wasn't influenced by those stupid pills," she yelled.

"Those pills are necessary—"

"Necessary? For you to keep me locked up like this? No, Tom, I've had enough of this. I'm leaving," she declared.

"Don't joke—"

"I'm not joking," she replied coldly. "I'm packing my bags right now, and I'll leave in an hour."

His expression changed from confused to angry and determined. "You're not leaving, Hermione. I won't let you."

"You can't stop me—" He rushed across the room and slammed her against the wall.

"Get off of me, Tom!" she shouted.

"Take these pills, now," he said firmly.

"No, I won't let you control me—" Quickly, he shoved them into her mouth and held her nose to force her to swallow.

As her eyes glazed over and she slumped to the ground, he scooped her up in his arms.

"Don't you see, Hermione? I had to do this," he pleaded as she sat in front of him at the table with a blank expression on her face.

"You just happened to be the first. Soon, the entire country will be just like you except for me, of course. I'll control everything just as I always wanted to."

She nodded along placidly.

"I couldn't stand having you leave me," he burst out suddenly. "I need you so much; it's killing me. You made me weak, and I can't have any weaknesses. That's why you had to go, Hermione, do you understand?"

"Of course, Tom," she replied absentmindedly.

He stared in her eyes. There was no trace of her fire, her determination.

There never would be.

She would never be the same.

He sighed and walked away with only a bit of regret.

* * *

A/N: My inspiration for the pills Tom creates and the ending is from Beth Revis's short story "Love is a Choice" from the Shards and Ashes anthology. Check it out and please review!

Also, my sister, penname Eirini, has written a Tom/Hermione called "Always." Please go read it!

And last but most definitely not least, a hearty thank you to everyone who followed, favorited, or reviewed my story!


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